


Guardian

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Depression, Drug Use, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: Steve Rogers years of fighting different demons get the better of him, but he is not alone.





	1. Sinking Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING suicide, vomit mention, drug use, alcohol abuse,

_Steve stared at the running water, his tears drying and leaving his cheeks tight and salty. The bathtub filled, lukewarm and soapless, reflecting the overhead bathroom light with distorted unease. Turning the bottle of Valium over in his hands he huffed out a sigh and the tears started again, cutting through the old ones and making his skin itch._

_He had tried. God knew he had tried._

_He had promised that he would not let it come to this._

_But he had also promised Peggy that he would come back to her, he had promised his mother that he become the man she wanted him to be, he had promised Bucky that he would keep him safe. Steve now knew that in the grand scheme of things, promises meant very little if fate had any hand in them._

_He emptied another twenty of the sour little pills into his mouth, chasing them with scotch and swallowed, already feeling the effects of the first ten. His vision was soft around the edges, his head felt full and swollen._

_He turned off the water numbly and relaxed into the too-small bathtub, lying so that his ears were just below the water line. The water soaked through his clothes and filled the spaces between cotton and skin._

_After a short wait, the shivering started, then the spinning, then the nausea. Steve whispered a cotton-mouthed apology to nobody before letting unconsciousness take away his control. He wondered if this was what it would have felt like when he had grounded the plain, if he had not cracked his head off of the dash board before hitting the water. He willed his body to untie some more, for the forced lucidity to pull him under fully. A banging came from all around him, feeling quite real, but to far away from him to act on. The chasm in his mind that usually overflowed with anxiety and sadness filled with a grainy space of quiet and numbness. Radio silence, a n uncomfortable static. He felt his mouth dip under the surface, then his nose. A short burning of inhaled bathwater and then nothing. Darkness, a total absence of anything._

_Until the morning came, and he woke up with a splutter and a migraine, water sloshing around him. He heaved himself out of the tub, vomiting white tablets and cloudy water into the toilet so hard that his eyes ached and sprung with tears._

_“Well you’re still alive,” He thought to himself, “Now what?”_


	2. Strength

Steve sat at his desk and supressed another wave of nausea with a clenched fist to his mouth. His head throbbed, his eyes throbbed, his chest burned. Shame twisted in his skull like a mobile tumour, infecting every thought it came in contact with. ‘You should get something to eat, but you don’t deserve it because you tried to kill yourself’, ‘It’s two o’clock already, exactly twelve hours since you tried to kill yourself’ or ‘Is that Natasha speaking down the hall? What would she say if you knew you had tried to kill yourself?’

It was growing exhausting.

“How’s my favourite star-spangled…Steve?” Natasha waltzed into the room cheerfully before stopping in front of Steve’s desk.

“Well you look like crap, Rogers. No offence,” She frowned, pulling up a chair and sitting.

Steve smiled weakly and nodded.

“Just the flu or something,” Steve lied, rubbing the heels of his hands over his temples, half to brush away the sweat, and half to curb the splitting ache.

“You’re immune to influenza types A, B and C,” Natasha recited, “Also Polio, Tuberculosis, Gastroenteritis, Mono, Herpes…”  


“...Okay Nat, enough,” Steve sighed, “I’m just not feeling well.”

Natasha stared at Steve for a few counts before something visibly fell into place in her mind.

“JARVIS, could you run a diagnostics scan on Captain Rogers for me?” Natasha said clearly.

“No, no JARVIS. That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Steve protested.

“JARVIS, ignore him, he’s not feeling well,” She shot a shrivelling look of suspicion in Steve’s direction, “Override code 09578478,” Natasha smiled sweetly at the invisible voice.

Steve felt dread creep over him as a red beam filled his vision and scanned him from head to toe, covering him in tiny dots of light before disappearing as quickly as it came. Natasha knew all of the hacks. Steve needed to remember that.

“Heart rate is low resting at 35 bpm, blood pressure low resting at 116 over 50. No broken bones since my previous scan on 20/7/2016,” Jarvis said obediently.

Natasha nodded and looked at Steve with scrutiny.

“Liver enzymes significantly increased and toxicology reading from sweat chromatography shows level of diazepam to be at ten times the normal range for Captain Rogers’ prescribed dose. Blood alcohol is over the legal driving limit and temperature is low at 35.4. Internal mapping shows fluid collection in the lungs.”

Natasha leaned forward on the desk.

“Start talking Steve.”

He swallowed thickly, his mouth drying out in a way that was nothing to do with the pills.

“Nothing to talk about, Nat,” Steve mumbled quietly, “Must have gotten my doses all messed up or something.”

Natasha stood up sharply and slammed her fist on the desk. Steve jumped harder than he was anticipating in his hazed state, feeling tears spring up in his eyes in a way that had been forgotten. Instant and raw.

“Talk!” Natasha ordered slowly.

Steve opened his mouth but the sound fizzled out. He took a deep breath and started again.

“I had a rough night. I took a bunch of pills, got into the bath and…waited. I took thirty diazepam and laid down in the bath until I feel asleep and then I just…I freaking woke up in the morning,” Steve rambled.

Natasha sat back down and looked at Steve to continue.

“I woke up, puked and was no less alive than when I took the lousy things. I wanted it to slow down, I wanted it to stop…”

Natasha reached forward quietly but paused when Steve put his head in his hands.

“I’m tired Nat, I’m exhausted. I want him back and he’s gone and it’s my fault,” Steve coughed out, the edge of the table splintering under his grip.

He tossed the little piece of wood in his hand into the corner of the room angrily and rubbed his eyes.

“You tried to kill yourself,” Natasha breathed.

Steve sniffed and nodded, feeling himself blush from his collarbones to his hairline. Natasha leaned across the desk and planted a kiss on Steve’s forehead, cupping his face in her hands and holding him there. His cheeks were hot.

“There’s more fight in you than you think, Steve,” Natasha sighed, running her fingers through Steve’s forelock slowly.

Steve shook his head against Natasha’s neck, closing his burning eyes against the shampoo and perfume scented tresses of red hair.

“I don’t know, Nat,” Steve near whispered, “I really don’t know.”


	3. Watching

_“God Steve, what are you doing?” Bucky whispered to himself._

_The Captain put something in his mouth, chasing it with alcohol and lowering himself fully clothed into the water. Bucky had expected this to be a normal evening’s vigil. He would wait out of sight, checking every 15 minutes or so to see if the Captain was safe. Sometimes Steve would read, sometimes he would cook. Lately, he had been ordering in, but for the last few nights, he hadn’t been eating anything. He would get into bed as soon as he got home, pulling the covers around him like a soft version of that shield, eyes squeezed shut. Sometimes, Bucky would watch the unmistakable rhythm of shaking tears. He would look away when that happened. The urge to come out from his little hide just beyond Steve’s window would become overpowering when he saw him like that._

_Gradually, Steve’s eyes fluttered closed, twitching under their lids and his hand fell limp, dropping the little orange pill bottle._

_“Oh, don’t you dare,” Bucky shouted, “Don’t you fucking dare, Steve!”_

_He slammed on the window with his flesh hand, but there was no reply. He watched as the crown of golden hair that he could see from his angle slipped lower into the water and disappeared behind the porcelain lips of the bath._

_He lifted the sash window roughly from the outside, sighing in relief when the lock popped off easily on the other side. But it only slid halfway. His first instinct was to smash through, but that would draw unwanted attention._

_“You’re a fugitive, you’re a fugitive god dammit,” Bucky mumbled shakily as he tried to fit himself through the too small gap in the window without breaking it._

_He finally fell onto the other side and went to work, hoisting Steve under the arms like a baby and sitting him up._

_He slammed between his shoulder blades. Nothing._

_“Shit!” Bucky hissed, climbing into the bathwater and holding Steve forward._

_He prized the Captain’s mouth open and slid in two metal fingers, wiggling them roughly at the back of Steve’s throat until he made an uncomfortable burping sound. Bucky watched as a disappointing number of tablets came out of Steve’s mouth and nose and dribbled down his chin. He pulled away his fingers, grimacing and mentally apologising for the intrusion before getting his arms around Steve’s middle more securely. He squeezed in and up._

_“Oh, thank God,” He sighed, feeling his eyes burn with tears as Steve started to cough, bath water and cloudy acid bubbling from his mouth as he did._

_Bucky climbed out of the bathtub and let Steve rest back. He pushed his feet into the bathtub so that he could slip down and sat on edge of the bath._

_Steve’s breathing was ragged, but present. Every now and then his fingers would twitch in the water, or he would make a quiet sound of discontent in his drugged slumber. All were signs of life._

_Bucky waited until the sun started to rise before standing up._

_“Please don’t do that to me again,” He kissed against Steve’s forehead before wiping up his foot prints, climbing back out onto the fire escape and closing the window behind him._

_“And please wake up.”_

 

 

Now, Bucky moved aimlessly around the empty apartment. The fire escape had been an easy place to wait until the disorientated Captain had left the building.

_It’s gonna’ be hard to explain that you’ve been watching him all this time._

Bucky sighed at the thought, but quickly pushed it out of his head. He had drained the bath, cleaned the bathroom. He figured Steve was not going to want an instant reminder of the incident as soon as he got home.

_He’s going to be mad. He’s been spending all this time searching._

“Well I’m here now,” Bucky huffed aloud.

Bucky straightened some of the books on Steve’s nightstand. There were four: Swallows and Amazons, The Hunger Games, Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets and The Subtle Knife. Bucky ran his fingers absently over their mistreated covers, feeling all of the furrows and creases and thinking back to the nights where he had seen Steve fall asleep with his face pressed awkwardly against them, or let them slide off of the bed as he dozed off.

There was a notebook too. Bucky felt a little twitch of guilt as he opened it. There were a few meetings, the times scribbled next to the places and checkboxes messily ticked when the task had been completed. There were doodles, small cars with over-exaggerated wheels that had been scratched in brutally with ball point pen. Further through, there were full drawings, pencil sketches. Some were of places; one was of the park near here that Bucky recognised. Slowly, the drawings got darker, tunnels with sloping walls, scratchy scenes of battle and fear, doors in shadowy rooms, always closed, always confining. Bucky closed the journal with a sigh and put it back.

_Why are you surprised that he’s drawing sad stuff? He tried to top himself last night._

Bucky mentally scolded himself for his own mind’s lack of sensitivity before just wishing Steve would hurry up and get home. The apartment suddenly felt even less comfortable.

Almost on cue, the door to the apartment rattled and opened. The sound of a shield being dropped, and footsteps. A deep sigh, and someone sagging into an armchair.

Bucky moved slowly, entering the small living room nervously. Steve did not seem to notice, eyes closed and covered with his hands. Bucky could see that they were trembling.

“Steve,” Bucky muttered.

The Captain jumped up, going to reach onto his back for a shield that wasn’t there, but stopping with ragged breathing when he saw Bucky.

“Tell me I’m not going mad,” Steve near begged, hoarse and quiet in the empty room.

Bucky smiled and stepped a little closer.

“No, not mad,” Bucky reassured, “100% real.”  


He prodded his own cheek to affirm it and Steve breathed out a shaky whisper of thanks.

“That was real dangerous, what you did last night,” Bucky continued, “The wet clothes are in the dryer, by the way.”  


Steve’s face fell.

“You saw,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky nodded.

“You pulled me out?”

Bucky nodded again.

“I wasn’t ready to see you go. You were out cold so I propped your window and sat you up. Watched you till you started breathing properly again. I tried to get as much of the water out of you as I could,” He explained.

Steve nodded slowly and leaned forward in the armchair. His face was unreadable, blank and tired. There was a redness in his eyes that could have come from crying, illness, cold, or fatigue. The trembling in his hands could have come from anxiety, nausea or anger. Steve was a picture of nondescript discomfort. Bucky shifted uneasily.

“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky shook his head and sat opposite him.

“I’m not,” He shrugged, “If I hadn’t you might not be sitting _here_ looking like a bear with a sore head, hey?”

Steve forced a weak chuckle. Nothing was sinking in. He figured that the meds would have run their course by now. Natasha had made him drink activated charcoal and three litres of water to flush the excess out, so his cloudiness could not be excused as medical.

“How long have you been…watching me?” Steve finally asked.

Bucky wondered whether or not he should lie but decided that Steve would probably be one of the few people to be able to see through that.

“Months,” Bucky admitted, “Since just after the whole mess with…you get the drill.”

Steve nodded and winced as the ugly scene tore through his frontal lobe like a comet. Bucky had stared back at him on that helicarrier and he had been just another mark. Now, he was watching him from outside his apartment and saving him from depression-fuelled bad decisions. It ached just to try and process it.

“Why’d you do it, Steve?” Bucky asked in a near-whisper that sounded too full of emotion.

Steve shook his head.

“I don’t have a good reason for you, Buck,” He muttered, “It’s just been a very dark place up here for a while now.”

Steve tapped his temple as he said this. Bucky leant over and kissed the tapped spot, cupping the opposite side of Steve’s face as he did. He stayed silent as Steve’s shoulders started to tremble with tears.

“I’m so scared, Buck,” Steve sobbed out roughly, his voice breaking over almost every syllable, “I’m losing control and I’m terrified.”

Bucky could only nod. He knew the fear too well, and he knew that nothing he could say would alleviate it. He waited for Steve’s breathing to ebb and flow into a more stable rhythm before standing him up and guiding him to the couch.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I put you through a lot,” Bucky apologised, squeezing Steve’s trembling hand in his own, “I guess I thought I couldn’t be of much help. I’m not the most stable either.”

Steve shrugged, sniffing and rubbing his eyes roughly. His cheeks were alight, raw and angry with tears.

“S’okay,” He breathed, “We can be broken together. The blind leading the visually impaired.”

Bucky blew out a laugh. The pair sat in exhausted silence for a few moments, the clock ticking in the background, giving the whole situation a heartbeat, a hyper reality that was reliable and steady. This was not going to float away.

“You need to get some help though,” Bucky insisted, “Don’t think I’m gonna’ gloss this over like it can be forgotten.”

Steve cringed internally and nodded.

“I’ll…I’ll sort something out,” Steve groaned.

“You’re tired,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve nodded in agreement, standing up and stretching.

“Yep,” He yawned, “More tired than I’ve ever been.”

Bucky saw the look on Steve’s face and did not doubt for a moment that this was true. He knew the Captain had not aged, but he could swear there was something that had changed. A seriousness, a dullness in the normal summer palette of his colours. Stunning blue had darkened to cornflower and stormy grey, gold hair had darkened to dirty blonde. Maybe it was psychological, but Bucky could feel it. Depression, hanging like a halo around Steve in a way that was infallible and distressing.

“Let’s get you to bed then, hey?” Bucky suggested, slotting his fingers through Steve’s and leading him to his own bedroom.

It felt fitting. Steve looked like he was anything but comfortable and familiar in the place he called ‘home’.

Steve undressed numbly and slumped into bed.

“Bucky…did you tidy my room?” He finally asked, a small smirk threatening to soften the frigid line of his mouth.

Bucky chuckled and put a finger to Steve’s lips, pulling the covers over him and kicking off his own shoes before sitting next to Steve.

“Close your eyes and do your best to fall asleep,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve smiled and obeyed, closing his eyes and blowing out a sigh of content. Bucky stayed watching as Steve ebbed in and out of sleep, falling just below the threshold of dreaming before jolting awake a little to repeat the cycle. Every now and then, Bucky would offer some comfort, shushing Steve when his breathing caught, putting a solid hand on his chest when his brow furrowed with frustration at rest escaping him.

“I’ve missed you, Bucky,” Steve finally mumbled, pressing his face into Bucky’s chest and falling still.

Bucky ran a hand through the Captain’s hair.

“You too, Stevie. You too.”


End file.
